


London Light

by themuller



Series: The Light Series [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), London Spy
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Angst, Apparent suicide, First Kiss, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts, TRS, articifial intelligence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7430825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themuller/pseuds/themuller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young man goes missing, apparently committing suicide. Q seems a bit more distracted than normally. And once again 007 disappears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The last day

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'ed. Not brit-picked. English is not my first language.
> 
> Please heed the tags and remember none of the main characters will die (or has died).

He had given up. Finally. He had tried to start anew after Frances had left him, because he wouldn’t and couldn’t become her new pet prodigy. Danny had tried to turn back to the life he once knew so well. An odd job, not for the money. Scottie had made a carefree life possible for him. No, he needed something to keep him occupied. Something non committal. Drifting through bars and clubs. Searching for something, someone, anything, anyone. But whenever another man tried to contact him, turn towards him, Danny shied away, excused himself and all but fled.

Now, he was sitting in the darkest corner of the bar, watching, observing. The loving couples kissing and chatting the night away. The two men leaving the dance floor at the same time, walking conspicuously towards the loo, returning dishevelled and one of them grinning smugly a mere twenty minutes later. Danny could lose himself for a few hours in the bustle around him. Not by partaking. Forever left outside, forever the observer.

With a shrug Danny took another sip from his drink. He looked up, just in time to meet a pair of cold blue eyes, watching him. Danny swallowed. It had been a long time since he had been scrutinised intently by such an attractive man. Danny blinked, before lowering his head. It should have been frightening. It was not. Danny emptied his drink, didn’t look up, didn’t lift his eyes from the floor when he walked outside. Once more, one last time, he went to the bridge. As he had done a year ago. As he had done two years ago. Back then, distressed, lonely and sad. Now, empty. Danny wasn’t nervous. He looked out on the river, then turned in an imitation of his moves from two years ago. But no man came running to his rescue. The dawning light only revealed empty streets and places. Danny shivered. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Today. Today Daniel Edward Holt would end his life.

An almost smile played on his lips. He stood, tall and straight. Steady, determinate steps took him away from the bridge. He found Scottie’s car, where he had parked it last evening, and made his way back to Scottie’s house. When he stopped in front of the garage, he turned the key immediately. He did not leave the car. Like he had done every morning for the past two weeks, Danny contemplated the garage in front of the car. How easy it would be. Open the garage, park the car inside, close the garage. Sit back into the car and turn it on. How long would it take before he would be unconscious? Before he was dead? He shook his head. No. Not this way.

He left the car and opened the door into the house without heeding the dark shadow that seemed to linger behind one of the trees.

A few minutes later, Danny came out of the house, carrying a small envelope and a bag. He went back into the car and drove away one last time.

Finding the unpaved road and climbing the fence was as easy as ever. Danny tried and failed to imagine walking side by side with Alex. The memories were as vivid and clear as if it had happened yesterday. But the emptiness inside him couldn’t be filled with images from a long gone past. Not even his anger, his frustration, his grief could fill the void any longer.

He had walked along the beach to the very spot where they had been drinking a cup of tea from a thermos. So domestic, adult, mature. So very much missed by now. Danny took off his shoes and socks. Put everything neatly together, including the bag and letter. One last look along the beach on both sides. No other living being was in sight. Once more Danny straightened his back and turned towards the water. It was cold, but he didn’t mind. Step by step, one foot in front of the other, Danny went in. His clothes soaked up the water, became heavy, clinging to his slim body. Randomly he thought about his last meal. Two days ago. Just a bit of toast and beans. Since then nothing but tea, water and the one drink at the bar. The water reached up to his neck and he started to swim to avoid the small waves hitting him in the face. And then he was dragged down by the weight of his clothes, the emptiness in his heart. He wondered if everything was going according to plan or if he rather hoped for some kind of cock up.

He wouldn’t have to wonder for long.


	2. Substitute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, not brit-picked, English is not my first language.
> 
> And bugger, getting this idea turned into something worth reading terrifies me to no end. Well, here goes....

When the target had locked eyes with Bond at the bar, Bond had felt a stab in his heart. The sadness and utter despair was almost palpable. Q had only given him a nickname, ‘Danny’, a blurred photograph and a list of times and places with the final rendezvous point at the beach. Nothing on the why, no background information or a simple alert to the fact that Danny had a slight resemblance to Q. Strictly need to know. As it had been since Bond’s return after his affair with Madeleine.

With a shrug Bond tried to clear his head, returning his attention to the slumped figure in the stern of the boat. It had been surprisingly easy to slip the oxygen mask over Danny’s head once he was under water. Bond had feared a panic attack or worse. It would have been easy enough for Danny to go through with the suicide. Take one big gulp of water before he reached Bond in the water. Instead, Danny had followed Bond’s lead without question.

They reached their destination, a small harbour several miles away from the spot, where Danny had entered the water. Without meeting any people they were tying up the boat and switching to an inconspicuous car. Danny huddled under a blanket in the back and Bond set the car in gear. The last leg before they would meet up with Q in a safe flat.

Bond hoped it would be Q meeting them at the flat. He had felt like Q had done everything possible to avoid such a meeting since Bond’s comeback. Even on the comms, Q had been cold and distant. Every time Bond had tried for their usual banter, it had fallen flat between them. Bond needed to speak to Q. In person. So much had been left unsaid between them since Madeleine. Bond knew he had made a mistake once everything had calmed down and he had had time to think things through. All the small signs had been there. Not just from Q. The trust he had in him, even now, after Bond had left Q behind, only to return without giving any explanations. Even now Q trusted him to follow his instructions without question. And Bond trusted Q, more than he ever had trusted any person before. Not even Tracy or Vesper came close.

Bond looked in the rear mirror. Checking on Danny, who seemed to be sleeping. Trust. How did Q and Danny know each other that this young man would trust a total stranger to safe him? Or was Danny suicidal, not caring whether he survived or not? Normally, Bond wouldn’t care. He got the target, everything went according to plan, and that should be it. But he couldn’t shake that image of a young, utterly devastated man off. Was this how Q had looked or felt, when Bond had left with Madeleine?

They arrived in the early afternoon. The flat was placed in the outer skirts of London. Q had made sure no CCTV was in the vicinity and the car could be parked in an underground carpark. Bond was wary anyway. Danny had been silent all the time and even now he just followed Bond like a lost and tired puppy. They took the lift up to the flat. Q opened the door.

“Danny, I presume?” Q said, opening the door a bit wider and letting them in. “Bond,” Q added when Bond went inside. The tone of voice much less welcoming.

“You don’t know each other?” Bond looked at Q, who mouthed ‘later’ at him.

“Surveillance,” was all Danny said, as if that explained everything. He was almost asleep on his feet. Bond instinctively reached out to support him. Danny leaned into his arms, much to Bond’s surprise.

“Second door on the left is the bedroom. You can take a nap, while Bond and I sort things out,” Q indicated the door.

Bond half carried Danny down the small corridor. Pliantly, he let Bond undress him, and hummed a sleepy ‘thank you’ when Bond put him under the covers. Bond smiled despite himself. Trust. He wondered if Danny had any idea who his temporary flatmates were. Then again, Bond had no idea, who Danny was and why Q was interested in the man. Time to face some questions and seek answers. He left the bedroom door open and went back to the kitchen.

“Well,” Bond began. “What is this all about?” Q had his back toward him, preparing tea. Bond could see his shoulders tense. It took a moment before Q turned around and another moment before he was able to look at him.

“You remember Scottie?”

“Scottie? Accountant Scottie?” Bond’s confusion must have shown on his face. Q half smiled, before he continued.

“Scottie committed suicide while you were absent with,” Q waved his hand. Bond could see the anger on Q’s face. There and gone again. Replaced by the slightly arrogant demeanour of the competent quartermaster.

“Suicide? Why would he kill himself? Had someone brought up that old story again?” Bond was now genuinely confused. He had heard about Scottie as an able agent his early days in the navy, and later as an expert into finances and global economics. Of course he knew about his homosexuality, everybody did after Scottie had been degraded. But that were old news, nothing anybody would deem problematic this day and age.

Q shook his head and looked towards the bed room.

“Is he asleep?” he asked quietly.

“Went out like a light. Not everyday, he’s faking his own suicide, I guess.”

The kettle shut off and Q finished preparing their tea. Bond took the offered mug and leaned against the counter, close to Q.

“Scottie had been investigating some,” Q hesitated. “Glitches, he called them. Fluctuations in the market which shouldn’t have been there. Shares, that jumped up and down several points for mere micro seconds.”

They stayed in the small kitchen, standing next to each other, sipping their tea. A content silence between the two of them, while Bond considered the new information.

“Apart from people making money this way, why would Scottie kill himself because of this? As far as I know, he was well off. And if Danny was his boy, well.” Bond winked at Q, who scowled back at him.

“No, Danny was not ‘his boy’,” Q was annoyed. “Far from it. They were best of friends, nothing else. But Danny could be the solution to this mess.”

“You mean, he, what? Killed off Scottie?” Not that this came any closer to explain Danny being suicidal.

“No,” Q looked exasperated at Bond. “Does he strike you like a man who can take down an agent? No. Scottie had been able to trace the glitches to some kind of programme, some kind of artificial intelligence.”

“You’re talking about a computer gone mad and influencing stock markets?” Now it was Bond’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’ve seen too many spy movies.”

Q didn’t take the bait.

 “At first it wasn’t just the computer. There had to be a programmer and someone calling the shots.”

“Why not the programmer alone?”

“Impossible. Running a program like this, at least in the beginning, should have needed a large team of experts,” Q emptied his mug and put on the kettle again. “I know for sure, they only had one programmer on it.”

Bond could hear admiration in Q’s voice.

“Who ‘they’?”

“My best guess right now? Someone inside Spectre. And no,” Q continued before Bond could protest. “You didn’t manage to take all of the organisation down. If this works out, we will be able to shut down the program for good and flesh out a large part of Spectre.”

The kettle was boiling again, and Q prepared a new cup. Taking pity in Bond, Q opened a cupboard and took out a glass and a bottle of whisky, much to Bond’s relief. With their drinks in hand, they walked into the living room, settling on the sofa.

“How does Danny fit in?”

“His partner was the programmer.”

“Was?”

“He was killed once the program was able to run by itself. He enabled the program to learn and gain knowledge. But,” Q took another sip of tea, creating a small pause for dramatic effect. “The program is autonomous now. The death of Scottie was its first move, using its resources to kill off one of the persons who knew about the program. Scottie did not know how close he was in discovering the truth about it.”

Bond gave Q an unbelieving look.

“So, you are saying, we have a computer going rampant at people who could throw the switch at it? And this computer is able to, all by itself, instruct MI6 agents - “

“Not just MI6, MI5 and even CIA. Unfortunately, yes.”

Bond downed the whisky.

“But if the program is autonomous, how does Spectre benefit from it?”

“It’s basic algorithm is to gain wealth and influence for Spectre’s organisations. That part can’t be changed. It’s like, well, you could call it the program’s personality. Very difficult to change, and the more success the program experiences, the more you enforce it’s basic personality. Still,” Q’s eyes went distant. “I don’t think, Spectre knows what it has unleashed. It wouldn’t surprise me, if the program turned on the organisation itself. Becoming Spectre, instead of just serving it.”

Q stopped and looked expectantly at Bond. He had another drink, trying to make heads and tails of the situation.

“So, Danny’s best friend is closing in on the computer and gets killed, then his partner, who programmed the computer gets killed -“

“The other way round. Danny’s partner gets killed, Danny is accused of his murder, wrongly, I can assure you. Before he is murdered, he manages to hide his code for Danny to find.” Q paused, before a non-sequitur. “The professor is a moron.” Q looked down then back at Bond. “Danny got in touch with the mentor of his partner. Alleged mentor, if you ask me. He didn’t even realise what he had in front of him. He was supposed to decipher the code. Bloody idiot only got the first layer of it; just a kind of lie detector. Nothing earth shattering, considering what is underneath it.”

Bond chuckled. Q’s excitement about the program was probably not fitting, considering the implications, but his enthusiasm had always been endearing.

“Which brings us back to Danny. Who is he and why is he here now? Can’t be anything about a ransom or blackmail, since everyone coming close to him seems to die mysteriously?” Bond considered.

Q got up and looked down the corridor. Satisfied that Danny was still asleep or at least inside the bedroom, he went back and sat down close to Bond, one leg drawn up under the other and facing him directly.

“You saw him. He is my lookalike,” Q smiled widely at Bond’s disbelieve when he realised what Q was hinting at.

“You - he. You want him to be your stand-in?”

Q’s serious nod was met with a frown.

“I need to be able to work on this without having any kind of surveillance. This program I’m talking about, I’m sure it has access to MI6 - maybe not the inner core of Q-branch, but it knows that I’m getting closer.”

“But, that would put Danny at risk? Does he know about the implications for him? Aside from you being a genius?” For all Bond knew, Danny was just a civilian, and from what he had observed in their short time together, Danny didn’t strike him as a strong, levelheaded person who would be able to withstand the kind of pressure, such a ruse would put on him.

“And wouldn’t the computer be able to tell the difference? If it has access to CCTV and the like, it should be able to compare its data on you with the new input?”

“But that is the beauty of it. I’ve run Danny’s face through my face recognition program - it couldn’t tell the difference! Glasses, hair and eye colour can be changed, but we are look-a-likes on all the points that counts for the program,” Q got all excited again, and Bond stopped him before he would start on a lecture of bone-structure, algorithms, and statistics.

“There is the tiny issue about him being able to assist agents and whatever else you are up to at Q-branch,” he reminded Q.

“M, Tanner and Moneypenny are in on the plan. I can’t rely on anyone else from Q-branch or MI6. You will be Danny’s backup if anything goes wrong with a field agent. We’ll be able to have direct contact with him from this flat. And,” Q said with a triumphantly gleam in his eyes. “Since you are officially declared missing, presumed dead, nobody will be thinking twice about ‘Q’ being a bit distracted or getting things wrong.”

Bond smirked.

“Is that so?” he said, leaning closer towards Q. Q, who at first looked puzzled, then realised what he had said, what it implied. Q, whose face flushed, biting his lips, avoiding Bond’s eyes.

And Bond didn’t let him recover, but instead laid his arms around him and drew him closer towards himself on the sofa. Q did not fight him, just watched Bond closing in on him. Both their eyes were blown dark; their breathing fast and shallow. Forgotten was the mission, the upheavals of the past months, computers that could kill people, Danny in the bedroom next door. The world narrowed down to the here and now, the living room, the sofa, the two men on the sofa.

Gently Bond took off Q’s glasses and placed them on the coffee table. He cupped Q’s face with his hand, caressing his cheek, savouring the moment before he closed the distance and touched Q’s lips for the first time. A small sound escaped Q, who had closed his eyes at the contact. Lips parted and tongues were licking, tasting, exploring. Hands were entangled in clothing, trying to get to the skin underneath. Bond responded to Q’s nervousness and need with a calm confidence. This was not another notch on his bedpost, to be conquered and laid. He wanted this moment to last, wanted to drown in the sensations caused by the slim body wrapped around him. The whines and moans, still suppressed, still holding back, Q cautiously trying to protect himself from the onslaught of Bond’s tender moves. His reassuring voice fondly humming endearments, responding to Q’s wants and increasing urgency with the reassurance of a generous lover. Bond’s hands found their way down Q’s body, slipping below layers of clothes, touching and teasing, igniting a long buried longing. When Bond started to open Q’s trousers, pressing small reassuring kisses to his neck and shoulders, Q finally let go. Pushing up into Bond’s hand, breathlessly begging for release, while both hands were buried in Bond’s hair, pulling Bond’s lips towards Q’s open, pleading mouth, eyes focussed, want and wonder written all over Q’s face. Bond revelled in the trust, shown in the openness of Q’s expression, letting Bond watch as he tensed, the orgasm hitting full force with panting turned into a low sob of satisfaction. The body in Bond’s arms went slack, a single tear following a crinkle under the eyelashes and Q’s breathing turned peaceful and even.

Bond sat back in the sofa, holding Q’s sleeping form in his arms. The quietness of the flat enveloping them in safe bubble, the fading light from the setting sun creating soothing shadows in the living room. Bond settled for a vigil, keeping watch over two men, who would have to face the world and its cruelty once again come morning.


	3. The first day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, not brit-picked, English is not my first language.
> 
> Thank you for the awesome support for this story. I am truly surprised and incredibly happy for everyone reading, liking, commenting and rec'cing!

Danny looked up at the intimidating building in front of him. Fate was playing tricks with him, he thought. Of all the places he never wanted to visit, let alone work for, MI6 would have to be at the very top of that list. And yet, here he was, pretending to be someone he wasn’t, trying to play his part in a game, he didn’t understand half of. And why? Because a man recognised their resemblance? Because Alex had started something, only Danny could help stopping again? Safe Queen and country? Q had tried that line, but James had known right away that it wouldn’t work on Danny.

James. Danny remembered him as the steady presence of the past three days. Q had made lists, explained connections, the routines, showed photographs, building layouts. James had made sure, Danny was well cared for. Food and drink within reach and somehow, James had understood Danny’s need for physical touch. Danny smiled sadly. James let him curl up in his arms on the sofa, while Danny tried to understand Q’s written instructions or commit names and faces to memory. Twice, Danny had fallen asleep in James’ lap. When he woke up a few hours later, Q would be curled up on James’ other side, listing a new set of instructions or discussing some of the need to know gossip from MI6.

No, it was not Queen and country Danny had in mind when he entered the building. It was the thought, however tacit, that he might come to understand an aspect of Alex’ life, he never had been a part of. Never had tried to pry into, because he understood the need to keep it secret. How many times in the past months had he asked himself, what if? What if he had known? What if he could have helped? Yeah, Danny thought, helping a genius. As if. Smiling at his own stupidity, he shrugged the thoughts about the past off, concentrating on the task ahead of him.

Moneypenny happened to be in the lobby right when ‘Q’ came back from his mandatory leave, which had been could short because some new developments regarding Bond’s latest mission needed Q’s attention. Coincidentally, this same morning the papers had been reporting the assumed suicide of one Daniel Edward Holt, whose car and a few of his belongings together with an ambiguous note had been found at a solitary beach. Photographs of both Danny and one Alistair Turner were brought inside the paper, other events deemed worthier as front page news.

Danny was all to aware of the cameras following his progress through the building to M’s office. Moneypenny talking with a certain kind of gravity about Bond’s latest mission, while Danny followed with a worried look on his face. No need to pretend, he was genuinely worried, about the news, about how he would cope during the next hours. He had to pull this through, to help James and Q, to help himself understand what Alex had been working on and why he had been killed.

Moneypenny had repeatedly glanced at him, disbelieving. Danny couldn’t blame her. After James had finished shaving him and cutting his hair, and Q had shown him how to use the contacts together with the glasses, Danny looked exactly like Q. Same height, same build, same face. Only one difference was obvious. Q happy and excited; Danny sad and worried. Perfect for what lay ahead of them.

Officially, Q and Moneypenny were being briefed in M’s office on the situation regarding 007’s latest mission and his subsequent disappearance. Unofficially, Mallory and Moneypenny rehearsed the upcoming events with Danny.The main incident would be the email, explaining about finding Bond’s DNA in the rubble of the building, he blew up before disappearing. Danny would have to fake a breakdown, restrained of course, and would be excused from further duty that day. All in all, Danny would have to keep up appearances for a few hours, before he could leave for Q’s flat. That would be his next challenge, though hopefully easier, since he only had to convince a pair of friendly cats about his good intentions. At least that was what Q had tried to make Danny believe. James had looked a lot less certain when the word ‘friendly’ had been said in connection with especially one of the cats. Nothing, Danny should be worrying about right now.

Tanner arrived a little later to the meeting and was the one to take Danny down into Q-branch. Like Moneypenny, Tanner couldn’t help a look of disbelieve when he first saw Danny. With Q’s laptop bag slung over his shoulder and a tablet in his hands, Danny was Q. Even the way he walked changed slightly, letting him become the other man.

Danny took a deep breath and entered Q-branch. Q’s minions greeted him with sad smiles. They probably knew more about Q’s relationship with James than Danny had been able to piece together in the short time, he had known both of them. He had felt the deep affection the two men had for each other. Q a bit apprehensive at times, while James would show a gentle tenderness towards Q. A small peck on the cheek, brushing his fingers through Q’s hair. Danny understood far too well, why Q’s employees would feel sorry for him.

007’s disappearance had been the main concern for the past days and unofficially the cause for Q’s mandatory leave. Officially it had been a small breakdown by Q due to sleep deprivation and total exhaustion, because Q had tried to ensure 007’s secure retrieval. Failing to do so, M had to order Q to go on a short holiday, away from his everyday life.

Tanner walked with Danny to Q’s desk in the middle of the room.

“I’ll get you a cup of tea from your office,” Tanner said conversationally, making sure Danny knew where Q’s office was located. It would be Danny’s safe place once its security was engaged and the blinds drawn. Sadly, he would not be able to hide in there for the time being.

When Tanner returned, Danny made sure to prepare himself for the onslaught of 'sugar with a few drops tea' as he had come to call it. One of the unfortunate deviations of Q, since Danny preferred his tea with a bit of milk and no sugar at all. He thanked Tanner, who fiddled a bit with his papers, before he excused himself, leaving Danny alone and in charge.

Q’s laptop opened the relevant programmes automatically, once Danny had applied the password and a fingerprint scan. The latter by using a standard issue adhesive tape with Q’s fingerprints imprinted on. A bit tedious to wear all day, but compared to the other challenges, it was somehow grounding whenever Danny touched something. Also, it gave him pause in a way which matched Q’s controlled and measured movements. Always in control, always deliberate.

Danny had tried to catch some of Q’s mannerisms, small oddities, James pointed out to him during the past three days. Sometimes, Q would protest mildly, most of the times he would just get a faint rosy flush on his cheeks. Danny would excuse himself in those situations, since James typically started a small snogging session right away, which only would help increase Q’s embarrassment.

A small nudge brought Danny back to the present. One of Q’s minions, R Danny recalled, had taken the empty mug and returned with a fresh brew. Danny smiled shyly and muttered a ‘thank you’, apparently engrossed in the numbers and codes rolling over the screen in front of him. Keeping his voice low, Danny would have no problems sounding like Q. It had been one of the problems, Q hadn’t found an easy solution for. Comparing their voices, even if they were close, there were differences. Since Q would be grief stricken and had had a couple of rough days before he resurfaced at Q-branch, any anomalies could be blamed on the circumstances and his physical exhaustion, which despite M’s best efforts still was all too visible.

Danny was left alone, once R had reported some of her new findings on the layout and structure of the building 007 had blown up. Scrolling through different programmes, reading some of Q’s notes on various projects, making fake notes and amendments, Danny began to relax. He went for a third cup of tea, this time making one himself, since Q was known for his excessive tea consumption, dutifully filling sugar upon sugar into the cup while cringing inside at the prospect of having to drink it.

Danny went through the motions, waiting for the small ping of a new email, eventually announcing the results of the DNA analysis. By the time he had managed to drink the third cup, the email alert sounded twice. He almost dropped the cup, tried to open the email as fast as possible, hitting several keys simultaneously, managing to open two different messages at the same time. The first message showing that the DNA results were a match with 007; the second message obscured by the first one, just the last few lines visible on the screen.

And then he dropped the cup.

And cried out, eyes wide as he stared at the screen in front of him.

He covered his mouth with his left hand, grabbling for his mobile and the laptop with the other, almost shattering both to the floor. Somehow Danny managed to enter Q’s office, get the security engaged and the blinds closed. Then he scrambled to the far end of the office and slid down the wall, facing the office door, now closed and locked.

It took several minutes before Danny got his breathing under control. Tears were streaming down his face and his whole body was shaking. The room was quiet and any commotion outside the door was muted. He couldn’t care less about what went on out there right now. Slowly, fearfully, he reopened the laptop, entered the password, scanned the fingerprint. He closed his eyes just before the emails became visible on the screen once again. He sat with closed eyes, laptop on the floor in front of him, mobile close by. Afraid. Afraid that he had dreamt the whole thing. That it had been an illusion, because he missed Alex so so much. Even now, after all these months. He missed him with every fibre of this being.

Danny forced himself to open his eyes. He looked away from the laptop at first, having to adjust the contacts, then the glasses as well. The tears were drying up, and he cleaned his nose before he closed his eyes, turned his head and opened his eyes to look directly at the screen gleaming in front of him.

It wasn’t a dream. The signature on the second mail, the one Danny had opened by accident, stood out clearcut on the screen.

0000001

Danny blinked several times, wanting to be absolutely certain. He reached for the small cylinder, the one thing he couldn’t leave behind when he had walked into the water. And the one thing, he would not concede, no matter how much of a risk it posed if discovered by the wrong person. Q and James had been told its story. They didn’t even try to convince him otherwise.

Now he held the cylinder in his trembling fingers. Turned the small wheels. One by one.

0\. 0. 0. 0. 0. 0. 1.

With a small click the cylinder opened, and Danny clutched the two parts in his hands. He wanted to tear the adhesive tape off his fingers, wanted to feel the edges and curves on his skin. Not now. Not yet. Instead, he put the cylinder together again, turned the small wheels and let it disappear once again under his clothes.

His initial panic had been replaced by an almost eerie feeling of calm. He took up the laptop and read slowly through the message.

 **Telecommunications Relay Services**  
**E.R.T. CEPS**  
**London, United Kingdom**

**Dear Friend,**

**I am Mr Joe Shaw, director of Telecommunications Relay Services, United Retail London:**

**during our investigation, i discovered The abandoned shipment from a diplomat Muller from united kingdom.Net.**

**It was kept under our facility in New York. and when scanned it revealed an undisclosed sum of money in a Trunk Box weighing**

**approximately 51 kg.** **The Consignments are one trunk box with weight of about 52kg**  
**(Internal dimension: W57 x H66 -D0.155(cm).**  
**Effective capacity: 129 L.)Approximately.**

**I wish to present your name and information as the recipient of the consignment if you agree to cooperate with me and both of us will benefit from this deal.**

**You will need to provide your full name, Phone Numbers and the nearest Airport around your location.**

**All communication must be held extremely confidential. I can get everything concluded upon your acceptance and proceed to your address for delivery.**

**I look forward to your response.**

**Mr Joe Shaw**  
**director**  
**0000001**

This didn’t make sense. Danny reread the mail several times, getting more and more frustrated. This was obviously a spam message, something, he would have thought Q had put some kind of filter up to avoid. Wouldn’t he? Danny looked at the name once more. ‘Joe Shaw’. ‘Joe’ like the name, Alex used the second time they met. And ‘Shaw’ like the professor, Alex’ mentor. This was no coincidence. This message had to be from Alex. It just had to be. And Q would be able to decode it. To tell him, what it meant. Where Alex was. How they would get him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so... there are a few things hiding in the letter. Including an url - just for the fun of it.
> 
> The letter is in fact a slightly altered spam mail, I received not so long ago. Especially the part about the trunk brought back some memories...


	4. The TRS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'ed.  
> Not brit-picked.  
> English is not my first language.

Sitting in the secure room of the flat, which was nothing more than a windowless cupboard filled with tech and absolutely undetectable by anything he could have invented, Q wondered what had happened at Q-branch. He knew at what time the mail regarding Bond’s DNA would be send. They had agreed upon a certain kind of reaction, but nothing which should have triggered the lockdown mechanisms of Q’s office. Especially for such a long time. Maybe James had been right all along, and Danny had simply snapped. Q knew he were putting a lot of stress on the man, but from all he had learned about him in the past weeks, he would have expected a breakdown long before. Danny had been suicidal, but he had a task, a mission, and no matter his motivation, Q was sure that Danny would be able to handle it. Civilian or not.

Q’s finger itched to start the hijacking program, which would let him see and work with Danny’s laptop. Well, strictly speaking, it would be his own laptop. But the lockdown could indicate that something had gone terribly wrong. And Q had no intention in showing his hand, not yet. Hijacking the computer would alert the program to his surveillance, he had no doubts about that.

Seconds turned into minutes.

Or maybe it just had been a stupid plan from the onset. When Q had realised that Scottie’s death had been a murder, not suicide; when he had looked into Scottie’s research and the last reports, Scottie had filed; realised the importance of Scottie’s work; a photo of Danny and information on him and his connection with Turner. By then Q had made sure that any trace of his snooping around in the files and reports had been erased. Still, Q had only a faint idea of what he was up against. Scottie had called the program ‘TRS’ which stood for ‘total return swap’. Hedge funds and banks used this kinds of swap to work with more or less hidden assets. Hot air, in Q’s mind. And obviously, Scottie had been on to something bigger than bank A using bank B’s assets to earn extra money without any risks. Somehow, TRS had taken over parts of the financial markets. Nothing obvious, the small glitches almost untraceable. But Scottie had been worried. His last report warned about a possible takeover of the stock market’s trading programs by TRS. The report had been dismissed, and still, Scottie ended up dead a few days later.

Apparently Danny had been Scottie’s closest friend. Just friend, as Q had reminded James. Nothing indicated otherwise. Contacting Danny secretly, through small notes slipped into pockets, untraceable  mobiles, prepaid cards; hatching a plan, wondering if Danny would do it. Q had been careful. Had avoided anything, which could have shown the current connection between Danny and MI6. And Danny had played his part beautifully. Until four nights ago, they hadn’t even met in person.

Four nights ago. When Bond became James. When Q had given in to James, had let James take him apart. Nothing has changed between them. Everything around them had changed. The world had become a new place for Q. A place, Q now wanted to investigate because of the possibilities it held for James with Q, Q with James.

He liked that. The idea of a unit which was so much more than the sum of its entities.

Danny was a part of them as well. Somehow, he had been able to accommodate, pliantly doing what was asked of him. Learning, understanding, even being able to suggest improvements to the plan. Observing Q, imitating him to a degree which Q found exhilarating.

The sound of the landline ringing, brought Q back to their present trouble. The landline was a special installation, which was not connected to any outside network. A direct, analogue line between Q’s office and the flat. One of the few ways, Danny would be able to communicate directly with Q. He picked up the receiver.

“Yes?”

“Alex has sent an email. He is alive.” Danny’s voice was calm, matter of fact.

“How do you-“

“The code from the cylinder. He used it as a kind of signature. And the fake name, he is using. The message looks like one of those spam messages,” Danny explained. His calm voice did not break, did not show any emotion. It hit Q with more force than any wailing would have done.

Q’s mind was racing, Danny waiting patiently on the other end of the line. Q’s spam filter should have taken care of such a thing, except - except, of course, if the sender knew how he could circumvent the program. Which would be a sign of Danny being right. That alone would have prevented the message from being deleted by Q, because he would have been intrigued by the fact that it had gotten through the filter. Clever guy, Q thought. And of course Turner would have known how to contact Q. The program, Q was fighting, had already registered too much activity from Q-branch. Which had been the reason for this charade in the first place.

Q took a piece of paper and a pen, almost shuddering about the old-fashioned way to store data.

“Read it slowly to me, including every single space or missing space, full stops, commas and the like, capital letters, the lot,” he told Danny.

It took a while to get everything down on paper. Right away Q could decode some of the words and numbers. He suspected Danny could as well.

“Danny, I need you to stay away from this message. The program, we are trying to hunt down, is already aware of the activities going on at Q-branch. Turner being able to send this can either be a trap or,” Q could hear Danny trying to protest. “Or it could be a sign that the program can be outsmarted.”

At least by its creator, Q thought. Which hopefully was a good sign.

Danny was silent.

“I know you want to decode it. And you have probably already realised that part of it is naming a website, but, please, Danny. If you use one of the computers or your mobile, you will alert the program to this breach in its security.”

Again just silence. Unnerving, especially since Q did not know how he himself would have reacted, had the situation been the other way round. Danny loved this man, Q had no doubt about that. And until a few moments ago, he had believed, that Turner had died. Killed in a gruesome manner. And what if this was a ruse? A way for the program to lure them out in the open. For now, Danny’s reaction, albeit a bit out of character for Q, could be explained by the apparent death of Bond. But if any MI6 related IP-addresses would start to pry into certain websites, that would most certainly either trigger the trap or alert the program to them.

“Danny, please,” Q pleaded. “Speak to me.”

Or maybe he should get James in here? Let him explain the importance of Danny to remain passive in the upcoming days? Q was good with technology, but how should he go about demanding something like this from another person?

He heard a deep sigh in the other end of the line.

“How do you get the whole message? Should I just copy it on a USB stick and deliver it the same place like last time?” Danny sounded utterly defeated. Q’s heart clenched and he would have loved to be able to reassure Danny. Instead, he had to make sure that their work wouldn’t be compromised.

“Yes, copy it on a USB. But just slipped it to Moneypenny. She’ll know what to do with it.”

He wanted to tell Danny that everything would be fixed. That they would be able to find Turner and rescue him. But he couldn’t. He did not want to give Danny false hopes. And not only was Q not sure whether Turner really was alive and if he was, whose side he would be on. If this TRS really was his creation, then he surely would go a long way to protect it, wouldn’t he?

He heard the small click, which indicated the line had been disconnected.

For a few minutes, Q did not move. He read the message several times, focussing on the obvious signs hidden within. Then he opened one of the laptops, provided the needed passwords and started the different programs needed to hide whatever he was going to do.

He entered the website address from the message and pushed the return button. The tab opened a white page with a video feed in the middle of it. It showed a desolate room, a desk with an open laptop on it and a small top lying on the desk. Beside the desk was an office chair. Q turned up the audio, trying to listen to any signs of life from the video. Suddenly a man appeared. Just an almost blank face, eyes downcast, dressed in a white shirt. Turner!

The man turned towards the camera without looking directly at it. Instead he lifted his arm and the feed blacked out for a short moment, the man’s arm and body obscuring the lens. When the picture returned, the man was looking directly at the camera, pretending to shuffle through the pages of the book in his hands. Nothing in the man’s face gave away whether he was aware of the camera or not. Then he turned towards the desk, took the small top and let it spin. When it fell on its side, the merest hint of a smile played on the man’s face. Then it returned to the emotionless expression from before.

Turner, Q was sure it was him, he could recognise this face from the photos in Danny’s file, walked out of the picture for a short moment. On return, he had a pen and started to write notes in the book while standing up. The he started to hum. At first it was just a sad sound, a slow melody.

Q could make out a few phrases, sentences: my love, I know you’re searching for me; there’s an evil, I don’t want you to see; I know you’re strong, I know you’re blithe, that makes your soul so dear to mine; you must try to turn back again; there’s a darkness that I can’t control.

Q could feel goosebumps down his arms. He had never heard the melody before and suspected Turner to have composed it here, in this bleak room, alone. His love for Danny evident in the text, his longing. Swallowing, Q tried to concentrate on the room, its sparse furnishings and layout.

Q had watched for several minutes before he realised that the man intentionally avoided to block the laptop. Turning his attention to the screen, Q saw lines of code being compiled. TRS was the header. With a few clicks, Q was able to enlarge the picture. A live stream. Showing the program, he was fighting. How did Turner make this happen?

Less than a few seconds of watching the lines flow over the screen and Q was stunned by the beauty of the code. Neat. Precise. No workarounds. Algorithms which felt like a work of art. Q was so engrossed in the code, he did not notice James coming into the room. Somehow, James managed to find a place for the mug of freshly brewed tea, which Q took, unaware of the man standing beside him. When Q came back to the here and now, he was wondering where the tea had come from. He had drunk it, while writing notes on the code he was watching on the screen. Turner had sat at the desk a few times, just for a few moments, starting a new sequence, making it possible for Q to get a view into some the core mechanics of the TRS. It was glorious. Q envied him. There was no quick and dirty haphazardly thrown together pieces of command lines. Q had thrown glances at the man standing beside the desk or sitting in the office chair, apparently reading the book he took, when Q first had logged on to the website. There was no gloating, no showing off. In fact, there were very little emotions playing on Turner’s face at all, despite humming the sad melody and its lyrics over and over again. Since the top had fallen, Turner’s face had been expressionless. Inscrutable. But the coding, the coding had emotions, feelings written all over it.

This was written by the same man, whose program Danny had had on the cylinder. The algorithms which in Q’s mind were a love poem written for Danny. Q did not know Turner, he had only seen some of his work. But in this, it was obvious to Q how much love Turner must have felt for Danny. If Turner had been shut away in that room for the past many months, then programming the TRS probably had kept him alive.

Why had he reached out now? What had changed? Had he not wanted to be found before? Q was wondering if the TRS had kept him locked up. If it really would be possible for this program to turn on its creator. As James has said, Q had probably watched too many spy movies. Then again, the TRS was an artificial intelligence, programmed to learn and adapt. He had seen the beginnings of this program. The deeper layer of the code, which Danny had given him.

As fascinated as Q admittedly was, he had to get back to the mail Danny had dictated to him. Hopefully, Moneypenny would deliver the USB drive soon, until then Q wanted every little piece of information hidden in the text decoded.

He cast one last look at the video feed. His computer was recording everything. Turner was once more just standing beside the camera, looking into the void with those sad eyes, humming an even sadder melody. An expression so very similar to Danny’s.

With a sigh, Q stood and went out of the room, letting the door close silently behind him.

James was looking up from a newspaper, he had been reading. Danny’s suicide had not made the front page, except for a small note indicating half a page of ‘reporting’ inside the paper. Nothing new, just the same pictures and explanations about Danny’s and Turner’s love life and Turner’s demise, now further framed by Danny’s apparent suicide. ‘No body found’ which was no surprise given the place, he had entered the water. All in all, that part of Q’s plan had worked out perfectly. Hopefully, Danny would by now be on his way to Q’s flat, having the normal kerfuffle with Q’s cats, taking Danny’s mind off things for a short while.

“Hello there,” James greeted with a crooked smile. The small table in the kitchen was set for one person. Q frowned. How many hours had he been in the secure room?

“Moneypenny delivered this,” James continued unfazed by Q’s missing reply. The USB drive was placed beside one of the plates on the table.

“Moneypenny was here?” Q’s frown deepened.

“Of course not, love,” James winked. “What do you take us for? I was out and collected it in one of the dead drops.”

Satisfied, Q took the USB drive and turned to go back to the room.

“Not hungry?” James asked, undemanding.

Q felt a small stab of guilt. He could smell the dinner, he knew he should eat, but he wanted to keep the flow of data and information going. Wanted to be immersed in the decoding process while everything was fresh in his mind. And he wanted to watch through the video feed, looking for further clues to understand the TRS.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, indicating the USB drive and the door to the secure room. James just nodded and returned to his paper. Q sighed. He should probably have said something more, done something. James looked up again, questioningly, since Q hadn’t moved. Seeing Q’s uncertainty, a small smile lit up his face.

“It’s okay, Q. I’ll bring some food later,” James said reassuringly.

Q returned the smile and finally went back to the room, opening the USB drive once all of the security was engaged, keeping the room shielded from the outside.

It was late in the night, when Q reemerged from the room. James had retreated to the living room with a book after having served Q the promised food, just a few sandwiches. Q looked ruffled but alert and excited despite having worked for close to twenty hours straight.

“I’ll make some tea,” James volunteered in lieu of a greeting.

Q followed him to the kitchen and sat down at the small table, spreading his notes out in front of him. They remained silent while the water was boiling and James preparing a cup of tea for Q, having a glass of Scotch for himself.

“This is incredible,” Q started, voice a bit rough. “The TRS is fully autonomous at this point. It tracks stock markets, initiates small events which will trigger either a sell out panic or the opposite.” He took a sip of tea. 

Eyes alight, the thrill of the decoding, of understanding how the program worked all too visible in his movements and voice.

“Turner has programmed several safeguards into the TRS. First, of course, the need to protect itself from harm, which by the way includes keeping Spectre at arm’s length and, if necessary, kill them off.”

Q had James’ full attention now. They locked eyes, both aware of the other thinking about possible scenarios of Spectre being wiped out by the TRS. James wickedly grinning and Q almost ready to discuss the setup of a mission or two. Then he shook his head, returning to the task at hand.

“The second safeguard, though, is much more interesting. The TRS is programmed to protect Danny at all costs. Turner had to run this as an amendment to the original programming, probably at a time, where the TRS already had become semi-autonomous, and Turner was under close surveillance because of his relationship with Danny. He still managed to get this part into the very core of the TRS.”

James frowned. He obviously didn’t realise the implications for their current predicament, Q thought.

“When Danny committed suicide, the program snapped,” Q explained. Or at least he meant that this would explain everything. James only looked puzzled at him.

“Why would it ‘snap’ because of Danny - oh,” James began, then realised what Q was implying.

Q nodded frantically.

“It was programmed to keep Danny safe. It failed. That must have left a short window for Turner to sent the message, to set up the video feed,” James looked very bemused now, and Q realised that he hadn’t disclosed anything about the mail yet.

“In the message. Turner had left the address for a website in the email. It’s a live streaming from the place he is kept prisoner,” Q explained hastily. “The program went into a loop. It had been able to stabilise itself at some point, but,” Q paused to draw a deep breath. “But it has to keep the knowledge of Danny’s apparent suicide from Turner. The TRS still needs Turner for some reason,” as much as it grated Q, he had to admit there were parts of the program, he still hadn’t figured out. “And Turner probably won’t work, if Danny is gone. Which leaves us with the key to this whole mess,” Q declared triumphantly. “Danny!”


	5. Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex in a white room, Q and Bond having sex, and Danny alone with two cats in a strange flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, not beta'ed, brit-picked and English is not my first language.
> 
> I don't know what happened, but Q and Bond's sex scene kind of... got out of hand? Sorry about that. I would prefer better communication skills, then again, everyone involved seemed to enjoy themselves, so there's that.
> 
> Oh, and sorry about Alex and Danny. Things will look much better soon. I hope.

Alex’ breathing was even, his movements controlled. As always. Keeping his routines just that. Routines. No divergences. Over the past month, he had slowly developed a few new routines. Nothing too surprising. Except for the song. A necessity Alex had told himself, to keep TRS occupied with analysing his actions, instead of registering the new codes he was implementing in the core program. Alex was not going to acknowledge the loneliness which had been draining him slowly, nor would he face the emotional turmoil which would endanger his ability to fight TRS. The song had to suffice as an outlet for his suppressed feelings, fears and anger. When the alerts had gone off, Alex had been worried something might have happened to Danny. It took a while to find the actual cause for the alarms. Q-branch from MI6. It surprised Alex. They must have hired new people since the Silva incident. Nobody he knew from the old MI6 would have been able to even get anywhere near TRS.

The program reacted predictably. Containing the intrusion, retaliating by observing the presumed intruders once TRS had figured out where they came from. But this had left room for Alex to circumvent the surveillance of him. He had been able to buy a bulk of new books and other equipment. Making sure to cover his tracks as best possible. The webcam was just a number among many on an invoice from a big online retailer. Alex knew TRS, but since it had become almost autonomous he was not always able to foretell its actions. But this had worked. The camera was installed and online. It had taken two weeks to carve out one of the books under the cover of the darkness. Lying in the small bed at one end of the room, he had used a simple nail file and the pretence of getting himself off to conceal his work. Shuffling and grunting seemed to have fooled TRS. Alex had made sure to have these small actions in place right from the start of his incarceration in the little white room. Once he had realised what had happened to him, he knew he had to develop procedures which would enable him to react to any kind of possibility for escape. While Spectre still had been in charge, Alex had been hopeful to make his escape. When he realised TRS had taken over, his hopes dwindled. Yet, he continued his fight against the program. To save Danny, to keep Danny safe. From Spectre, from TRS. Maybe even from Alex himself.

When TRS had the short malfunction four days ago, Alex had finally been able to continue with his plan. Not that he would know when or how he could escape. But he hoped the mail arrived at Q branch. Hoped, that somehow Danny would be involved in this mission. Because it had to be a mission for MI6. It just had to. MI6 had to be aware of TRS by now. Had to know the danger this program presented.

The webcam was placed directly across his desk in the bookcase, and Alex had been running TRS’ codes across his laptop’s screen for most of the day. A routine, letting him watch the development of his creation. Again, Alex had made sure over the past weeks to subtly change his routine. Walking around in the small confinement, pretending to read a book, singing or humming his song. This way making sure, the screen was visible most of the time from the webcam.

TRS was dimming the lights in the room. A sign for Alex to shut down his computer and start his evening routine. First, though, he took the top and let it spin. Watching it as intently as always, spinning round and round, and when it fell a small smile played on his face. He was not dreaming. One last look at the bookshelf, retrieving one of the new books, which he then placed on the small bedside table. He clicked on the small lamp on the table and then he started to undress. His clothes were folded and neatly put in the laundry box. He would set the box outside his door into the space between his door and the door to the outside world. Both doors were controlled by TRS. Even a power outage Alex had caused as one of his first attempts to escape had had no effect on the closed doors. On the contrary, a few days later TRS had given Alex access to a few news sites, showing Danny being accused of murdering his boyfriend. A warning, which only had intensified Alex’ attempts to have Danny’s safety as one of TRS’ primary objectives.

After having finished undressing, Alex went into the small bathroom. He started the shower. As much as he had been able to create a disruption of the status quo by sending information to the outside world, he still had no idea if someone was actually watching. And whether this someone who might be watching would be able to understand what they were observing. If they were, then there would still the possibility of them not being able to act on it. At this point, Alex tried to stop his spiralling mind. Stop it by remembering Danny, his smile, his innocence. A man who had lived a life Alex had not even been capable of imagining. A man who had had experiences which should have left him broken and mistrusting, instead Danny had not only trusted Alex. Danny had loved him. Loved and trusted him even when Alex knew that Danny had been able to spot his lies and evasions. At this point, standing under the warm spray of the shower, concealed by the drops of water on his face, Alex let go. Embracing himself in his arms, pretending his hands were Danny’s, caressing him, soothing him. He cried. For the first time since he had been released from the trunk, he cried.

**-o-o-**

Bond tried to follow Q’s line of thinking.

“So, what? Danny is officially dead. How could he help us bring TRS down, except by pretending he is you? Diverting the attention and giving you the possibility to get closer? Like you already have done?”

Q took the pen and a new piece of paper.

“TRS is programmed to keep Danny safe. When the news about  his suicide broke, TRS had and still has to keep that knowledge from Turner. This is probably the easy part, since I guess TRS is keeping close tabs on what Turner is allowed to learn about the outside world.” Q put some notes and small squares and arrows down on the paper. “Now, one of TRS’ main objectives was to keep Danny safe. The suicide has created a recursive loop, which the program is trying to stop to regain some kind of balance. This created the opening for Turner to reach out. He was able to send an unsupervised mail and somehow managed to install the camera. We can’t contact him directly. I still have to check the email for clues. But,” Q stopped to take a sip of tea, but continued before Bond could interrupt him. “Danny’s suicide can be used to our advantage. You see,” a few new arrows and squares were drawn on the paper. “Instead of Danny impersonating me, we should have me impersonating Danny.”

Q continued to draw and explain, while he became more and more excited. Bond tried several times to interrupt, but without any luck.

“Q,” Bond said for the third or fourth time, while Q was explaining about recursive algorithms and data overload. Finally, Bond had enough.

“Ethan!”

Q stopped mid-sentence.

“I told you not to call me that,” he hissed at Bond, who smiled at him unperturbed.

“Well, love,” Bond said, “I had to stop you somehow. And this seems to work perfectly.”

“I’m not finished. You see,” Q began once more with his drawing. Before he made any real progress, Bond  cupped Q’s face and simply kissed him, which effectively put an end to Q’s monologue.

The surprised gasp turned into a quiet moan, while Bond slowly nipped at Q’s lips.

“Hm,” Bond mumbled. “Much better, love. And,” he continued, one eyebrow raised and a pointed look at Q. “It is time for you to sleep. You can’t continue this without at least a few hours of sleep.”

“But if we con- hmpff.”

Bond stopped him once more. This time by putting a finger to Q’s lips and tsk’ing at him.

“I’ll make sure you’re relaxed enough to sleep.”

Bond’s smile had turned wicked. Q looked doe-eyed at Bond. Then, because Bond’s finger still was pressed against his mouth, Q opened his mouth, licking the finger slowly, his eyes trained on Bond. Bond took the hint and pushed into Q’s mouth, who let out a small sigh. Sucking and licking, Q seemed to lose himself to the sensation of calloused fingers on his tongue, of a body pressed against him. Need and want overtaking rational thoughts and responsibilities. Bond held him in his arms, tension and resistance leaving Q’s body being replaced with compliance. Bond cupped Q’s face in his hands, locking eyes with him.

“Okay?”

Q only managed a small nod, eyes bright, leaning forward in search of Bond’s mouth. Tenderly trailing Q’s cheekbones with his finger, Bond kissed chastely, almost teasingly. Encouraging Q to engage, take and demand what he needed, wanted from Bond. With a disappointed huff, Q went in with an open mouth, pushing Bond’s lips apart, almost greedily plunging his tongue into Bond’s mouth. Bond reciprocated, letting his hands trail down Q’s shoulders, his spine, and grabbed Q’ arse. They were both standing up by now. Q grinding into Bond’s groin, eliciting a loud groan from both men. Their arousals far too palpable in trousers that seemed too tight.

“Bed?”

Bond’s request was a sultry whisper.

“Fuck yes!”

Q’s respond was emphasised by tangling his legs around Bond’s waist and hoisting himself up, pressing his mouth once more against Bond’s lips, Q’s hands grasping Bond’s shoulders. Bond returned the kiss and pushed Q up against the kitchen wall.

“That’s my boy,” Bond said when both men came up for breath.

Q immediately yanked Bond’s head back, both hands clutching almost painfully at Bond’s hair.

“Don’t!” Q’s voice was low, almost vicious. “Don’t you dare to ever call me that again!”

Bond was taken by surprise, nearly losing his balance. The playful mood had gone, and Bond examined Q’s face closely. Anger, but also hurt and embarrassment were drawn into the fine lines of his face. Bond blinked confused.

“I’m sorry?” he offered tentatively.

Q closed his eyes. Without looking at Bond, he tried to pull away, releasing his hands and standing back on the floor. Bond still held his arms around Q, not drawing him in, offering comfort and concern. Q made a half turn, but stayed in Bond’s embrace.

“No,” Q said quietly. “I’m sorry. It’s - I. Just please don’t call me - that.”

Bond’s hands were caressing Q’s back, carefully drawing him close again. Instead of answering or asking questions, Bond kissed him gently. Nipping at Q’s ears, licking along the prominent collar bones. Making small encouraging noises. When he looked back up, Q’s eyes were half lidded, his pupils blown wide and his mouth half open. Bond’s smug smile was back in place. They would have to talk about this, but later. For now, all that mattered for Bond was Q’s wellbeing. And by all means, a good fuck would help both of them to release the stress of the past days and weeks.

Telegraphing his intentions, he watched Q closely before lifting him bridal style and carrying him towards the bedroom. Q just gave a small sigh and buried his face in the crook of Bond’s neck. Attentively, Bond took off Q’s clothes, only leaving his pants in place. That was, till Q made a small complaining noise pointedly looking at the offending piece of clothing. Bond’s grin could hardly become wider. Mere seconds after stripping Q, Bond was standing beside the bed in all his naked glory, revelling in Q’s appreciative glance. Bond lied down beside Q on top of the blankets.  With great care did he take Q’s glasses and put them on the bedside table. Then he let his fingers trail over the lithe body, watching Q before bending down to suck and lick at Q’s nipples, one after the other. The small buds became hard in his mouth, while his hand found its way down between Q’s thighs. Gently, Bond’s fingers traced the hard, hot flesh of Q’s cock. An admiring humming noise accompanied Bond’s ministrations, his focus solely on Q’s pleasure. Another kind of tension took hold of Q’s body, his breathing turned into panting, his hands searching for Bond’s back, for his shoulders, Q’s hips involuntarily bucking up against Bond’s hand.

Bond pushed himself further down Q’s body. Kissing and licking, leaving small bite marks in his wake. Q seemed to lose himself in Bond’s touch. Q’s cock was wet with copious amounts of precome, letting Bond’s fingers glide easily along the shaft before he took him into his mouth and down his throat. Q was too far gone to restrain himself any longer. Ruthlessly, he rutted into Bond’s mouth, chasing his own relief. Bond was hard. Q’s almost brutal thrusting into his mouth had Bond on the edge of his own orgasm. The feeling of being used, of becoming Q’s fucktoy had Bond grinding hard into the mattress, unconsciously, his awareness solely focussed on Q’s needs. And Q took. Grabbing Bond’s head, forcing him down on his cock, pushing up into his throat. It was glorious. Bond came, trying to catch his breath, choking and gagging, when Q’s semen hit the back of his mouth. He swallowed between harsh breaths, his own orgasm prolonged, almost painful. When Q finally let go of his head, Bond pulled slowly back, sucking on Q’s cock as on a lolly pop. Q was still gone in post coital bliss when Bond had gotten his breath back and had left to get a wet flannel to clean them both. He felt his own world a bit off-kilter, not being able to remember when he last had felt this good after sex. When he returned to the bedroom, Q looked at him with sleepy eyes.

“Shit.” Q’s voice was slurred.

Bond smiled softly.

“That bad?” Bond lied down and cleaned them both.

Q grinned.

“Best sex I’ve had in ages,” his pronunciation still off.

“Same,” Bond replied, sleep and fatigue catching up with him. He managed a sloppy kiss on Q’s wet and smiling mouth, before tucking them both under the covers. Q was snoring quietly by the time Bond drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**-o-o-**

Danny found himself in a strange flat, scratch marks on his hands from the small kerfuffle with Q’s white cat, Pam. She had been less than amused when Danny arrived, an unknown guest who wasn’t introduced by Q. James had warned him, even if Q had assured him, she would know how to behave. Turing, a grey tabby with a torn ear, seemed to have sensed the deep distress, Danny was in. Following him around the flat, keeping close. Danny had made it into the kitchen, making a cup of tea, which then cooled, untouched. The bathroom had been his next destination. Getting rid of the glasses, contacts and fake fingerprints. His clothes, Q’s clothes, Danny just left where they fell, when he took them of. Turning on the shower and getting under the still cold spray, gasping out when the water hit him. Tears welling up, mixing with the water rivulets down his face.

Danny started to shake. His teeth were chattering, and he collapsed into a small heap in the corner of the shower, the water pouring relentless down on his back.

He didn’t know when he finally had been able to move and turn off the water. His skin was wrinkled and he felt empty in every way possible. The realisation hit him. Alex was alive. The body in the attic must have been somebody else. Alex was out there, somewhere. Knowing that Danny would understand the email. That Danny would be the only one who really would understand what the last line meant.

Putting on Q’s bathrobe, pulling it close around him, Danny somehow made it into the living room, literally crawling onto the sofa, dragging a blanket over him. There were no tears left, no energy. Nothing. Alex was alive. Danny said it out loud, cuddling around Turing, who curled up against his chest. Alex was alive.


	6. Taking down TRS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the end of TRS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'ed. Not brit-picked. English is not my first language.

Alex woke up to the feeling of someone watching him. Opening his eyes he saw a familiar shadow looming beside him. Danny with his lopsided smile and bright eyes watching him intently. Alex could feel his heart skip a beat, his hand reaching out to touch the beloved face in front of him. Only then did he become aware of the top spinning on the small bedside table. Spinning continuously. Round and round without faltering.

With a gasp Alex woke up, bolted halfway out of bed before he became aware of his surroundings. The dimmed light almost made the white room feel homey and welcoming. The image of Danny still in his mind, Alex was heaving for air. Five days since Alex had installed the webcam. Five nights with the same dream, the same nightmare. The same feeling of terror and despair when he was shocked into wakefulness.

It took several minutes before Alex dared to move away from the bed and start his morning routine. Too early, like the other days, but TRS would not question it. The nightmares were an interference which the program tried to soothe him through. Letting the lights be dimmed longer than normal, even provide a few extras with the daily food rations. Alex hid his face in his hands, trying to regain control with his emotions, willing his body to calm down.

He had kept updating and maintaining the TRS, going about his daily practices. There had been the occasional irregularity in the program, keeping Alex’ hopes high about having reached someone outside. This morning TRS had several runtime errors in its log as well as a few new sets of algorithms. The latter seemed to be a response by TRS to some events in the outside world. TRS was programmed to not only learn and react, but also to actively influence events which had potential to create financial gain for Spectre’s organisations.

Wit his face a blank mask, Alex analysed the data, numbers, objects. With a carefully considered movement he took the top and let it spin. He watched it as intently as ever, keeping tabs on the rhythm of his breathing, trying to calm his pulse. The top fell. Alex drew a deep breath. He looked through the log a second time, somehow managing to keep his hands from shaking. There was a pattern in the disruptions. Alex had to tear his eyes away from the screen to avoid alerting TRS to his agitation. Alex stood and went to the bookshelf behind him. When he took a book, he risked a direct look into the camera lens. For a few moments he just stared ahead. Then he blinked. Short. A longer blink. And short again. He turned away with the book in his hands, humming his sad melody and started to pace up and down in the small room.

It had begun.

Alex had no idea how Q-branch or whoever was on the other side of the camera had managed to stage the disturbances in the outside world with such precision, but he had no doubt about the intentionality behind them. At this point, TRS was able to react to a plethora of incidents ranging from the smallest rise and fall of stock markets to a killing spree committed in the murder capital of the world. It would instigate its own manipulations, altering headlines and black out news feeds.

The log clearly showed that TRS was reacting, unable to gain any grounds on whoever was upsetting its usual machinations. The continuous updates of algorithms were turning into error messages. Alex could watch how TRS slowly was turning down parts of its program to keep control of the core system. Having been a passive bystander for most of the day, Alex finally sat down and started a new line of attack from inside the program itself. His Trojan horse was executed, disguised as a small update to the part of TRS which contained an image recognition program. Inconspicuous, just like the original total return swap program was used banks in their national and international transfer of virtual assets.

While Alex was watching the code being executed, TRS’ control of certain parts of his Internet access was weakening. For the first time in his months of capture, Alex was free to read news sites, uncensored by TRS. And within seconds his world was turned upside-down.

Naturally, Alex had set the image recognition program to look for Danny in every available media outlet, including CCTV and newspapers. Pictures of Danny were shown on the computer screen, the dark mop of unruly hair, his soulful eyes, the fine lines of his mouth. All of that had made Alex heart clench in longing. When he read the first part of the latest article accompanying a particular beautiful shot of Danny walking down a street, Alex pushed back his chair, violently knocking it into the bookshelf, before he rushed into the bathroom and vomited into the toilet.

Dead. He is dead, was the only coherent thought swirling through Alex’ mind. He knelt in front of the toilet, having emptied himself several times. He did not heed the tears, the snot and vomit, smeared all over his face after a futile attempt to clean it away with his shirt sleeves. He was staring at the white tiles of the bathroom. The shower and its curtain, pulled neatly away to one side. The glass door out into the white room, half open. The floor, spotless. The towels, folded perfectly, hanging side by side on the rack. Clean, tidy. Sterile. Empty. Void.

The retching had eventually stopped and Alex was left sitting numb on the floor, his back against the wall of the bathroom. Staring into the nothingness that was to be his future.

 

 _“Did you imagine you'd spend the rest of your life alone?”_ Danny’s words were spoken softly, without any judgement.

 _“Yes.”_ His firm answer.

 _“I can't begin to understand what that must feel like.”_ Neither had Alex. Had not known what it really would feel like to be alone. For the rest of his life.

 _“You always knew you would find someone?”_ Alex had be disbelieving. How could he not have known back then? Danny had been sitting right next to him. Patiently waiting for Alex to realise the love they shared for each other.

_“Always.”_

 

Alex had failed. Failed Danny in so many ways.

There was only one thing left to do. Now. Alex managed to stand up, strip of his shirt and clean himself. He found a new shirt and went back to the computer. If he should have had any doubts as to stopping TRS, they were gone by now. TRS had to be torn down, had to vanish from this Earth. And once that was accomplished, Alex would find a way to end his own life. Taking his knowledge of the core programming of TRS with him.

Determined, Alex returned to his desk. He took the top and let it spin. It stumbled and fell predictably. This was no dream or nightmare. This was reality in all its terrifying clarity.

With new purpose, Alex restarted his programming. The error messages had accumulated while he had been away from the laptop. TRS was trying to protect its core functionality. So far, even Q-branch seemed to have been unable to break into the innermost parts of TRS. With a viciousness hitherto unknown to himself, Alex hit the keys. His mind tunnelling in on his self appointed task, turning him into the apparently emotionless machine, Frances, MI6 and later Spectre always had wanted him to be. The fuel needed to create the algorithms was coming from the well of emotions he had kept in check for the past months. From the fury of having failed Danny. From the injustice of being this close to coming back, only to find the love of your life had been taken away.

It became a dance between the three of them. Q-branch and Alex attacking from two sides, keeping up the pressure when one of them had to regroup, decode, and assemble a new part of the program. It felt like they were connected by telepathy. The third participant stumbling and stalling as the day wore on. Several times the lights in the white room were flickering, not that Alex would need light to continue his fight. Peripherally he recalled not having eaten anything since that morning. Or was it already the next day? He had no idea how long he had been in front of the machine, tirelessly keeping up with his partner from Q-branch. He was by now sure there was only one person on the other end. The execution of the new codes had become flawlessly intertwined with Alex’, leaving TRS scrambling for any kind of purchase.

Then, Alex stopped. He had heard noises from the door. The silence, normally only broken by his tapping on the keyboard or the rustle of his clothes, was now accompanied by some commotion outside the door. The door, which led straight into his room. Meaning, the second door on the other side had to be open. Alex looked at the latest code, which was translating to machine language right now. It would be the last part necessary to finally close down TRS. Alex stood. Made sure the view to the screen was clear for the other to see. He waited.

The door broke open. A man, blond with piercingly blue eyes and blond hair stood in the doorway, holding up a gun, pointing directly at Alex.

“Q?” The man said, clearly talking to someone in his earpiece.

Alex was calm. His right hand was hovering over the keyboard, waiting for permission to set the very last part of his program in motion. Taking down TRS for good. His left was clutching the top, grounding him in the moment.

The man listened with a small smile forming on his face. He was handsome, Alex thought. The furiousness of the past hours or days was no longer apparent in Alex’ face, which had turned into the blank mask of a man who had nothing left to lose, nothing left to live for.

The man indicated to Alex, looking pointedly at the computer and lowering the gun.

Alex pushed the return key. The lights went out for a short moment, then came back on in full force, blinding Alex. When he had his vision back, the other man had stepped aside making room for a newcomer.

Danny.

Alex stood rooted to the spot. His eyes wide open. He did not move. Barely dared to breath.

Danny took a step forward, into the white room. His face was as open as Alex remembered it. Had imagined it. Alex swallowed.

“Can I come in?”

Alex’ nod was almost imperceptible.

Danny’s face lit up in a smile. Brighter than the sun, it felt to Alex. He remained silent, standing absolutely still. Not the slightest smile, only his breath was quickening; his eyes felt the size of saucers.

Danny stopped in front of him. Alex could feel tears well up in his eyes. He could not speak. With the utmost concentration, he turned his left hand and revealed the top. No words were spoken. They both looked at Alex' hand. It was shaking.

Carefully, Danny took the top and set it spinning on the desk. Alex could not look. He closed his eyes, pressed the eyelids together and listened. To their breathing, the humming from the computer and the faint grinding of the top, while it was spinning. And spinning. Alex made a small sound of distress. The grinding turned into a louder clack. Several clacks, as the top tipped over the edge of the desk and came to lie motionless on the floor.

Alex knelt down as if to collect the top. He still could not look at Danny.

Danny had knelt down opposite of Alex.

When Alex after long moments raised his eyes, Danny was watching him closely. He was waiting patiently, the smile sure and steady. He took the top and offered it to Alex. He took it, brushing Danny’s fingers as if by accident.

The touch felt like a lightning bolt through his body. Alex flinched, barely suppressing a sob. The first touch of a human being for almost a year. Too much input, too many senses stimulated in ways which had been muted for far too long.

Danny looked alarmed, but remained calm.

“Are you okay?”

Danny’s soft spoken words turned a switch in Alex. It brought him back. Back to their beginning, back to the now and here. His tears were flowing freely now. But he could not find words, only nod, afraid he might break the spell and Danny might vanish again.

“Can I hug you?”

Alex wanted to scream out his answer, wanted nothing more than to feel Danny close, being held securely in his arms. Nothing. The words would not come.

Danny tilted his head slightly, looking questioningly at Alex. Slowly, Danny stretched out his arms, inching closer towards Alex, who was shaking violently. He closed his eyes. The sounds, the scents and the warmth closing in on him, it was too much. Too little. He wanted to throw himself into Danny’s arms. Wanted to close the gap; wanted to run, to get away.

The touch was tentative, a whisper only. When Alex stayed, shaking, the touch became firmer. A real embrace, enveloping Alex in Danny’s arms, in Danny’s body. Strong hands moved gently, caressing Alex’ back. Danny was babbling sweet, soothing nonsense.

Alex wanted to stay.


	7. Reboot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, all of them together - happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'ed, not brit-picked and English is not my first language.
> 
> Beware of the tags.

Alex was sitting at the kitchen table. Q sitting by his side, tapping away on his laptop, every now and then conferring with him. Danny was standing at the stove, preparing their dinner. James chatting in a low voice about his latest mission, making a joke, which had Danny laughing and smiling brightly. James aggressively flirting, Danny playfully leading on and evading. Touching and teasing. Alex was fascinated, observing intently.

Q said something. When Alex didn’t react, everyone went still. Three heads were turned towards Alex, who looked pointedly at James’ hand, covering Danny’s arse, then let his eyes wander towards James’ groin, before looking back up at Danny. Danny, who winked encouraging, before turning back to James.  Q, who had locked eyes with James, disbelieving, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. James’ stance was challenging, turning Danny slowly towards Q and Alex, holding him tightly. Alex made a little, undignified sound. The tension in the kitchen was tangible. All eyes were on Q now.

Q, who apparently had been oblivious to the many small signs and hints, which had become more and more frequent during the past few weeks. Since Alex had managed to overcome his anxieties and had been working full-time for MI6 again. Ever since Danny had accepted his place in Q’s flat, their flat. Shared by four men, who each had to work with their own demons, but who relied heavily on each other in doing so.

Now, the only sounds in the kitchen were made by the heavy breathing of all of them. Waiting.

“Fuck, yes,” Q said quietly. Closing his laptop, he looked at each of them.

“No condoms,” Alex supplied, equally quiet.

Danny swallowed, his pupils blown wide. The front of his trousers were bulging, James’ hand stealing lightly over it while his grin widened into something feral.

“Hell, yes,” he said with a growl. Then he turned towards Alex. “Shower, now!”

Releasing Danny, who stumbled forward, gripping one of the kitchen chairs to keep his balance. Leaving Q and Danny in the kitchen, Alex pliantly followed James into the bathroom. This felt like a dream, his grip on the top in his pocket almost painful.

James turned towards him, hand outstretched. Hesitating a beat, Alex gave the top over to James, who made it spin for a few moments, before it tumbled and fell.

“Not a dream, Alex,” James said reassuringly.

It gave them pause. They stood in front of each other in the spacious bathroom.

“If you want to stop, at any time, just say stop or no,” James continued, a warm smile on his face, when Alex looked up at him.

He didn’t know how to respond, what to do next. He wanted this, had wanted it for a long time now. Unable to put it into words, knowing instinctively that Danny would be okay with it. Danny had probably known long before him. Still, Alex had no idea how to continue from here.

James took his silence as consent and slowly started to undress Alex. His movements were slow, telegraphing his intent, ensuring Alex time to adjust, time to stop him. Some of his tension disappeared, watching James’ eyes roam over his naked body. Alex’ breath hitched, when James began unbuttoning his own shirt, slowly revealing a well toned chest. He wanted to touch, carefree like Danny. Instead he just stood watching. James made a show of it, letting the clothes slipped from his shoulders, the trousers pooling around his feet. Alex wetted his lips, his breathing fast and shallow. Scars and muscles, two pink nipples, there for the taking, and all Alex could do was stare.

James took pity in him and stepped forward, closing the gap between them. His kiss was slow and sweet, like Danny’s when he wanted Alex to relax, to let go. Alex closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss, let James take the lead and hold him close. Opening his mouth, James plunged in, exploring with his tongue, taking control, keeping Alex safe.

They continued to explore each other, James leading and Alex pliantly following. In the shower, James cleaned Alex from head to toe, inside out. Preparing him for what was to come. Sure hands and knowing fingers trailed down his spine, found their place between his buttocks. Breathing laboured and spreading his legs wide, Alex let himself go. His breathing evened out, his body relaxed, giving way to James’ ministrations. By the time James was finished and turned to prepare himself, Alex sat with half lidded eyes and a strangely calm feeling propped up against the bathroom tiles outside of the shower, wrapped securely in a bunch of towels. Once James was done, he helped Alex to his feet and led him out of the bathroom into the larger bedroom, which Q and James now shared.

In a deeply satisfying way, Alex realised that his mind was empty, his reactions sluggish, and the world seemed to narrow down to the three people in the room together with him. James carefully positioned Alex in the middle of the bed, making sure that he was lying comfortable on his back, his hips slightly elevated by a pillow. Danny and Q had been in the bedroom already, entangled in a passionate kiss, with hands raking over each others bodies. Alex could not tear his eyes away from the white, beautiful skin, the slim body of Q, contrasted by the slightly toned skin and firm muscles of Danny’s body, by now so well known to Alex. Danny’s eyes were glinting with mischief, watching James laying out Alex in front of them.

Danny broke the embrace with Q, who protested quietly, only to be grabbed by James and practically assaulted with firm hands on his hips and a mouth pressed over his lips. Danny crawled on top of Alex, slotting their bodies together in a way so very familiar to both of them.

“Are you okay?” Danny whispered into Alex ear, licking and nipping.

A deep, contented sigh was his answer. Danny's smile widened and he peppered Alex face and neck with kisses and small bites, working his way down to rosy nipples, sucking and licking, enticing Alex. Both their cocks were hard and dripping, Danny’s breathing laboured.

Somehow, Danny had lubed up his fingers, now slowly opening Alex, helping him relax. One finger, then a second breached him. Alex’ world narrowed down to the face in front of him, the feelings of fingers inside of him. Danny, eyes bright and shining, slowly and gently entering him, giving Alex’ the time needed to adjust. Lips touched his face, kissing away a tear, which was trailing down the side of his face.

James was lying beside him, his lips swollen from the ferocious kisses exchanged with Q, who was kneeling between James thigh, working him open. Alex blinked the tears away. The small frown on James face disappeared when Danny bend down to both of them, whispering into James’ ear. Alex was too lost in sensations of touch, warmth and compassion to recognise the words. His mind blank, his body pliant, waiting to be used, wanting to be filled, to be manhandled and worked over.

Danny set a slow rhythm, while James got up on his hands and knees. Small grunts and closed eyes tell tale of the bliss provided by Q. Alex lifted a hand, trailing over James’ face, feeling the tension in his groin mounting. His finger slipped into James’ mouth. He was sucking it in, rolling his tongue over it. Alex opened his mouth, turning to Danny who had watched with dark eyes.

James was rutting against the mattress under him, Q pounding into him, and Alex’ fingers were covered with saliva, drooling down James face. Danny pulled out of Alex, unable to take his eyes from the open, inviting mouth, the sounds of Q’s and James’ coupling enticingly close by. Alex waited. Danny’s hard length right in front of his mouth, slick with precome and lube. Danny’s look pleading, but holding himself back, waiting for permission. When Q cried out, Alex gave a small nod, and Danny moved forward, letting Alex latch onto his cock, sucking eagerly.

He revelled in the feeling of Danny inside his mouth, tried to pull him in further, down his throat. James moved in behind Danny, lifting Alex’ legs up on his shoulders and plunging hard into him. Alex’ eyes rolled back, lost in giving pleasure, in being used.

Q had moved close to Alex now, a satisfied smile on his face. Watching over him, while Danny and James used him to chase their pleasure. A hand found its way to Alex’ cock, hard and leaking on his belly. Q palmed it, letting it slide and move through his fingers as James and Danny thrust into Alex’ body. Alex focussed on his breathing, emotion crashing over him. Safety, love, home. Acceptance. The tears were flowing freely now. Not tears of distress, Danny knew. Alex was deep under now, floating in a sanctuary, blissful and protected.

Q brought Alex to orgasm, James followed shortly after, spilling into Alex, who still shuddered from the prolonged sensations. When Danny finished down Alex’ throat, he swallowed, only to be kissed deeply seconds later by Danny, who licked his belly clean, before all four of them fell in a tangled, satisfied heap on the bed. Not caring about the mess they’d made.

Alex was the first to wake up. Normally buried under Danny’s pliant form and happy to stay in bed, before being the first in the flat to go about his morning business. This morning was different. Alex was sandwiched between Q and Danny, James lying behind Q, with his arm across Alex’ chest. The sheets and pillows were tangled up around them. Sounds of light snoring and breathing mingled with a few sounds from outside the bedroom. Q’s cats, or rather, their cats were impatiently waiting for someone to feed them. Guiltily, Alex remembered that he hadn’t given a thought about the cats the night before.

Carefully, Alex disentangled himself. Kissing Danny lightly on the forehead and James on the cheek, brushing back a stray strand of hair from Q’s face. He knew James was feigning sleep, but let it pass unacknowledged. Right now, Alex needed some time alone to get to terms with this new reality.

And to take care of the cats, who were mewing annoyed at him when he exited the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Of the two cats, Pam, the white one, had claimed Alex as her property. If he was sitting with her on the sofa and Danny wanted to cuddle close, a few well placed slashes would leave Danny with tiny bloodied streaks on his arms and Pam content in Alex’ lap. Turing on the other hand, had taken a clear liking for Danny, leaving Q in the cold whenever Danny was around.

Right now though, both cats were hungry and angry about having been left behind the night before. Alex made sure they had food and fresh water in their bowls, before he went into the bathroom. His body was covered with small bruises, which he examined with a welcomed feeling in his chest. Love bites, he thought. He was sore after last nights activities. Sore and pleased.

They had come so far since the white room. It had taken three days, before Danny had been able to coax him out of his prison. The patience of Danny had helped him overcome his fears. Danny had held him through his initial breakdown and those that followed. He had cuddled into him at night, when Alex was woken by nightmares. Had hugged him and cradled him during the nights, when he couldn’t fall asleep. Told him about Danny’s adventures, how he had fought to clear Alex’ name, always with a happy ending. The HIV infection, which had been fake; the program, which Alex had poured all of his love into, and which Danny only could decipher by Q’s help; the news papers who wouldn’t listen and told the story planted by Spectre’s agents; Scottie’s death to be redeemed by MI6, now the truth had become known. Alex sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea, contemplating the turn his life had taken.

 _“Did you imagine you'd spend the rest of your life alone?”_  

Danny’s question came back to him. When James broke through the door to the white room, Alex had wanted him to pull the trigger. When TRS was brought down moments later and Danny was standing in the doorway, Alex thought him to be an angel.

Danny was an angel. Maybe a broken one, but with an innocence and a resilience, Alex still could not fathom.

Six months had passed since then, and Q’s offer to stay in his flat until things were sorted, had turned into them staying permanently. Danny could not face living in Scottie’s house. It was and would always be Scottie’s. He had kept it, and had not yet decided what to do with it. Alex had no intentions to seek a renewal of his relationship with Frances or the rest of his family. Working as a programmer in Q-branch was all he could have dreamt of. And while James and Q had continued their line of work, now even better prepared than ever before due to Alex working with them, Danny had started to carve out his own little place in the world. While he had been happy to stay at home until Alex was ready to face the world on his own again, Danny had taken up writing. Attending a few classes and turning his experiences into small poems and short stories. Not ready for publishing yet, but Alex knew he would get there.

The morning sun had broken through the clouds.

Alex put on his running shoes. Time to start training again.

 

 

 


End file.
